Ghosts in the Attic
by Magical Bandfic Account
Summary: For most of Brendon's life, they thought he was schizophrenic. They, being his parents, his family, the doctors. Talking to thin air, giggling at the empty corners of the room, crying when he was made to leave his room and actually go to kindergarten. Ryden, Yaoi, And stuff. Panic! At the Disco... Oneshot, Enjoy :3


**Hallo, Minute here.**

**This is pretty much my first Bandfic :D**

**I'm super excited, so not to waste too much time, I _obviously_ own Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross.**

**(I wish I did, That would be awesome. Think of the Ryden...)**

**ANYWAYS**

**ONWARDS**

**ENJOY**

* * *

For most of Brendon's life, they thought he was schizophrenic. They, being his parents, his family, the doctors. Talking to thin air, giggling at the empty corners of the room, crying when he was made to leave his room and actually go to kindergarten.

"It's just an imaginary friend," his mother would sigh to his teachers, when Brendon would hide away in the far corner of the room, crayon in hand, drawing his best friend, Ryan, on every surface available.

"They said you're not real," Brendon told Ryan when he was six. He'd just got home from his first day in first grade, and already the teachers wanted to know why Brendon would cry for this strange, unknown boy. Ryan sighed, and sat down on the foot of Brendon's bed, running a hand through his brown hair.

"They just can't see me, is all," Ryan said, offering a weak smile at the six-year-old, who was staring at him with wide chocolate eyes.

To begin with, Ryan had tried to avoid the little boy when the Urie family moved into the old townhouse, he really had. When he'd discovered the kid could see him, he'd try to stay invisible, or stay in the walls or attic, but that brat just came looking for him. Sure, he was a cute kid, all puppy dog eyes and crazy brown hair, and just wanting someone to play with, but really, how could Ryan explain to a four-year old boy that he technically wasn't there? Ryan had died years before Brendon had even been born - how could he try to tell a child that? No, he couldn't. So he tried to keep away, and tried to hide when the little boy came padding up to the attic, pushing his way through the old furniture and junk that had been up there for decades.

"Helwo?" The little boy would call, before he'd cross his arms, huffing, and throwing himself down on his bottom in a tantrum when Ryan wouldn't answer from inside the walls. Eventually, he started to answer, after one night when he'd been aimlessly floating around the hallways, and heard the light, heart-broken sobs coming from one of the bedrooms.

He'd popped his head in the door to see a little lump of blankets on the bed, shaking, little whimpering noises sounding through the air. Ryan knew he should have ignored them, but he couldn't - the kid sounded so broken.

"Hey," he said, kneeling down at the side of the bed. "Are you okay kid?" Slowly, a little round, red face appeared from under the blankets, a little button nose sniffing. "You're the boy in the attic." Ryan bit his lip and nodded. "Momma...momma say's you're not real." Ryan sighed. "I'm not."

Brendon seemed to think about this, before he sat up on his bed. "Okay," he shrugged. "Why are you crying?" Ryan asked, crossing his legs. "Because no one likes me," Brendon whispered, hugging his knees to his chest.

"I'm sure that's not true," Ryan said, his heart breaking slightly. "It is," Brendon sighed. "No one in pre-school wants to play with me. And momma and daddy are too busy." Ryan nodded, and was silent

"Will you play with me?" Brendon asked, eyes bright and hopeful.

"Aww," Ryan said, getting to his feet. "I think I'm a little too old to play with you, kid..." A little too old, and a little too dead... Ryan told himself.

Brendon had pouted, and Ryan had fought the urge to pinch his little chubby cheeks, before he'd flitted out of the room. After that, he couldn't get rid of him. Wherever he turned, he'd had the kid at his heels, asking him stupid questions like, "Why can't momma see you?", "Why can't I walk through walls?" and "Do you think Superman could beat up Batman?"

Really, Ryan thought one night, after he'd just managed to get Brendon to stay in his bed, this was not how he'd imagined spending his afterlife. Sure, he knew being a dead nineteen year old boy was never going to be fun, but having a toddler running after him constantly was getting a bit weird. He couldn't lie though, it was nice at times, the company. Sure, Brendon's attention span lasted the whole of five minutes before he was running off and wanting Ryan to play pirates in the backyard again. But it was nice, having someone to talk to, after being alone for like, what? Ten years? Something like that. He never could keep track of the time, not after his mother moved away. Ryan had been a bit broken that he couldn't go with her, but he couldn't blame her, not really - who would want to stay in the house where their only son had died?

So he made do - he'd play with Brendon, only visible to the little boy and play hide and go seek, or superheroes, or walk-the-plank. He'd sit at the bottom of his bed, and listen to all the madcap stories the kid would make up in his head. When Brendon's parents would fight, and the little boy was crying in his bed, Ryan would float sit on his bed side table, and tell him all about the time he went to the zoo and helped the penguins escape.

* * *

When Brendon was thirteen, he'd learned to stop talking about Ryan. He'd nod when his psychiatrist told him the odd boy he spoke of was all in his head, making up for a friendless childhood. Brendon would come home after his sessions, smile for his parents, eat his dinner, colour at the coffee table, then disappear off to the attic, to find Ryan floating around on the ceiling somewhere.

"You're dead," Brendon said one day after he'd returned from school.

"No shit, Sherlock," Ryan laughed, floating down from the rafters of the attic.

"No, but like, you died."

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, that's the whole point."

Brendon shook his head. "The kids in school said you were murdered in this house."

Ryan froze where he was. "What?"

Brendon nodded, and plonked himself down in the big dusty armchair in the corner. "Terrance Logan said you were murdered in the basement."

If Ryan were alive, he'd be gasping for air.

"What happened?" Brendon asked in a casual tone.

Ryan shook his head. He really didn't want to talk about it.

"The kids in school said they're parents wouldn't tell them, that it was too horrible to talk about."

_It was_, Ryan thought, feeling nauseous. Could ghosts even feel nauseous? He did. He was getting flashes now, behind his eyes. He hated those fucking memories. Why did Brendon have to go and-

"They kept saying the house was haunted, and the ghost wanted revenge, which is stupid, because you're my friend, and it couldn't have been that bad," Brendon was going on. "I mean, you look fine to me."

Ryan's eyes were screwed shut, his form wavering, blurring around the edges.

"So what happened?" Ryan shook his head.

"Come on, Ry," Brendon practically laughed. Ryan couldn't believe how casual Brendon was being about this. This was his death they were talking about. Sure, Brendon was still a kid, but come on! Brendon was still goading him, when Ryan snapped. He hasn't meant to scare Brendon, not really. He couldn't control it. The old creaky shutters on the attic window flew open and closed at a rapid speed, the noise deafening. Papers and boxes, piled high in the corners of the attic came crashing to ground. The air grew icy cold, so cold that Brendon could see his own breath.

"Get. Out." Ryan growled, trying to control the overwhelming feeling in his midsection.

"Ryan..." Brendon's voice shook, walking backwards, arm outstretched, searching for the handle to the door. "Ryan... you're scaring me..." He said, eyes on the rafters of the attic ceiling, shaking in their place.

"Get out." Ryan repeated, his form blurring so furiously, Brendon stumbled as he fumbled for the door handle, slamming the door closed behind him, running for his room.

Later that night, Ryan found himself wandering the halls of the old house again. He felt guilty, really. He hadn't meant to scare Brendon, he'd just been upset. He poked his head through Brendon's wall, biting his lip upon seeing the teenage boy sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Bren?" Brendon looked up, eyes wide. Ryan sighed, and floated in. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't...I didn't mean to scare you..."

Brendon watched him hover above the bed, legs crossed in the same way. "I didn't...I just...I've never spoke about it, okay?" Brendon stared at him for a moment longer, before he nodded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think." Ryan nodded. "You're the only person I've ever spoken to. I don't know how to talk about it." Brendon cocked his head slightly. "It was bad, wasn't it?" Ryan sighed, and closed his eyes. "Yeah, it was." They were silent for a few seconds, before Ryan heard Brendon move and opened his eyes. The younger boy was standing on his bed, so that his face was level with Ryan's. His arm was out stretched, hand in a cupping position, just a centimeter from Ryan's face. "It's okay," Brendon said, eyes soft. "You don't have to tell me."

At that moment, Ryan had never longed for a human touch so much in his whole existence.

* * *

Brendon was sixteen the first time he came home with a busted lip.

"What happened?" Ryan raged, the curtains blowing wildly as Brendon threw his backpack in the corner of his room.

The boy shrugged. "Just some assholes. It's nothing."

"What?! They beat you up?" Ryan yelled.

"Geez, stop yelling at me, you're making it cold," Brendon said, rubbing at his arms. Ryan sighed, and settled down, sitting on the foot of the bed, watching Brendon pull a bandanna out of his sock drawer to pat at his lip. "They were just messing with me Ry, it's okay."

"You don't deserve that," Ryan said quietly.

Brendon gave a sarcastic laugh. "I'm the weird music fag kid with an imaginary friend, they seem to think I deserve it."

Ryan shook his head, staring at the floor. "Don't call yourself that."

Brendon scoffed. "Why not? It's what everyone else does" Brendon threw himself down on the bed, eyes closed. "Ry?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish you were alive." He spread his hand out on the bed, right through Ryan's leg, a visible shiver running down his spine.

"Oh yeah?" Ryan gave a small laugh.

"Yeah. Then I'd be okay."

"You are okay, Brendon."

Brendon sighed, and leaned up on his elbows. "I'd take you to prom."

Ryan blinked at him. "Huh?"

"If you were alive. I'd take you to prom. That'd show 'em."

At that he fell back on the bed, eyes closed, breathing steady. Ryan stared down at him, confused, before he eventually walked off, into the wall.

* * *

"Brendon, do you remember that imaginary friend you had?" His brother, Matt, asked over the breakfast table.

Brendon almost choked on his cereal, looking over at his older brother. "Uh, yeah?" He replied, eyes falling on the wall by the refrigerator, where Ryan's head had just appeared.

"Well, this kid in my class, his mom told him that some kid was murdered in this house!" The excitement in Matt's voice was almost too morbid.

"Oh." Brendon replied, eyes falling from Ryan's ghostly face.

"Yeah!" Matt said gleefully. "They found his body all cut up in pieces in the basement. HOW COOL IS THAT?!"

Brendon moved the pieces of marshmallow in his Lucky Charms about with his spoon. "Yeah, cool..."

* * *

"My mom was out," Ryan said, eyes on the ceiling.

"What?" Brendon said, closing the door to the attic behind him.

Ryan sighed, floating down slightly, almost at the height of the arm-chair Brendon was settling into.

"My mom was out, at my aunts. I told her I'd be fine for the night."

Brendon nodded, eyes on Ryan's face.

"They just showed up, these two guys. I'd never seen them before. I tried to stop them, but they just...the just walked in. I tried to call the cops, but I couldn't." He paused for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "The took me down tot he basement, and just tied me up. I thought they were just gonna rob the place, and leave me there."

"But they didn't." Brendon breathed, barely blinking, eyes still on Ryan.

Ryan shook his head, and leaned into a sitting position, coming to rest on the floor near Brendon's feet. "They...hurt me. Like...it...I only thought things like that happened in movies...to girls..."

Brendon stared at him for a few seconds, before his eyes widened, jaw dropping slightly. "They...they raped you?"

Ryan stared at the floor, nodding. "I just...I never...I don't think anyone really knew..." He gave a sigh. "They cut me up pretty bad. My whole throat was gone...my body was destroyed..."

They were silent for a few minutes before Ryan looked up. Brendon was staring at him, his rosy cheeks tear streaked. When Ryan opened his mouth to speak again, Brendon shook his head, screwing his eyes closed. He slid off the chair onto his knees, right in front of Ryan.

"Ry," he let out a small sob.

"Hey," Ryan smiled sadly. "It's okay." He reached out a hand, but froze in the air. What was the use? Brendon noticed, and scooted forward slightly. His knees pressed through Ryan's, the ice-cold feeling giving him goosebumps.

"I wish I could touch you," Brendon whispered, shining eyes meeting Ryan's. He raised his hand like he'd done before, just a centimeter from Ryan's face.

"I'd kiss you." He said, closing his eyes, hand suspended in mid-air.

"Brendon..." Ryan said in a whisper. "Don't say things like that."

Brendon opened his eyes, and brought his hand back to rub at his face. "Can't help it," he said, giving a shaky laugh. "I love you too much."

At that he got to his feet and walked to the small attic door, leaving Ryan staring at the empty space.

* * *

Ryan was in the walls. He didn't know what it was, but he liked being in the walls. It so almost comforting, the closed in spaces - something he would have taken a panic attack over in life. He was just about to pop out of Brendon's wall when he heard the noises. He paused, ear against the wall. Brendon's breathing sounded strange. It was short, erratic.

Oh.

Ryan stepped back slightly. He'd managed to avoid showing up in Brendon's room during these 'moments'. That would be awkward now, wouldn't it? He was just about to move off in the direction of Matt's room, to mess about with his CD collection, when he heard it.

"Ryan..."

He froze on the spot.

No. No way. Nu uh.

He stepped closed to the wall again, knowing damn well he shouldn't be listening.

"Uh...mmmmmmm...Ry..." Ryan slowly pushed his head through the wall, blurring his image, almost invisible.

Fuck.

The knot in his non-existent stomach was so tight, he could have vomited. He quickly pulled back into the wall, appearing back in his attic as fast as he could, the image of Brendon on his bed, pants around his thighs, cock in his hand, burning in his mind.

* * *

He knew he shouldn't be doing it, really.

It was wrong, on so many levels. For one, he was dead. Secondly, Brendon was alive. Alive, and sixteen. Ryan was dead, and nineteen. This was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

However, as wrong as he knew it was, he still found himself peeking on Brendon, every time he heard those noises, those erratic gasps for breath. He couldn't help it. He was mesmerized. He wasn't sure what it was. Sure, Brendon was attractive-

Fuck, he was more than attractive, but Ryan tried hard not to think about that. He was his only friend, the only person that could even see him. His only connection with life. This was so wrong.

It was on Brendon's seventeenth birthday that Ryan got caught out. There had been some kind of party, a few friends from school that Ryan had never heard of, family members from out of town.

Ryan had stayed in the attic, not wanting to intrude, in somewhat of a huff. He'd wandered down just after midnight, when everyone was gone, and paused inside the wall, hearing Brendon's panting breaths.

"Ry..." Brendon whispered. Ryan bit his lip, the name sounding so familiar in that tone.

"I know you're there..." Ryan felt a panic rise in him.

"Ryan...please..." Ryan didn't know what to do. He stayed still, hidden in the wall, behind the large Beatles poster he'd convinced Brendon to order online.

"Ryan...I know you can hear me...please...I just...fuck..." It was almost too much. Ryan slowly slid out from the wall, his non-existent heart beating wildly in his chest as his eyes fell on Brendon's form, lying flat back on the bed, pajama pants pushed around his thighs, hand moving slowly, up and down his cock.

"Bren, I-"

"C'mere." Brendon panted.

Ryan gulped, completely unsure of what to do. He slowly stepped over to the bed, not quite sure where his eyes should go.

"I just...I need..." Brendon had one hand out, trying to grab him, sliding right through.

"Brendon...I can't...I should-"

"No...please...Ryan..." Ryan bit his lip, eyes on Brendon's, baring into him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was climbing on top of Brendon, through him. He sat in a straddling position, Brendon's moving hand moving up and through Ryan's crotch.

"Fuck..." Brendon moaned, his hips jutting slightly. "So cold..." Ryan reached a hand out, sliding it down the side of Brendon's face slowly, noticing the way he shuddered, goosebumps on his arms. "I wish I could feel you," Brendon panted, his hand now pumping faster and faster. "I know you watch me...I've seen you...I wish...I want to...fuck...I need to touch you..." Ryan bit his lip, wishing for nothing more than what Brendon was asking.

When Brendon came, Ryan didn't feel anything. He rolled off and into the empty space next to the panting teenager. He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, unsure what to say. As it turned out, Brendon spoke first.

"M'sorry," he whispered, pulling his pants up and wiping his hand on his sheets. "I didn't..."

Ryan shook his head. "No...it's...I shouldn't have..." "

If you were alive, would you like me?" Brendon asked, eyes closed.

"What?"

"If you were alive...would you want me? Like this?"

Ryan turned his head, watching him. Brendon's cheeks were red compared to the paleness of his skin. His brown hair was knotted in such a crazy way it made Ryan smile.

"Yeah...I would."

Brendon nodded, eyes still closed. He settled his hand through Ryan's, ignoring the cold, and gripped the bed sheets.

* * *

"Do you have to go?" Ryan said from his position on the toilet seat.

"JESUS CHRIST RYAN!" Brendon yelled, almost tripping over the edge of the bathtub, twisting as he slid, towel wrapped around him. "You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!"

Ryan sighed, and repeated his question. "Do you have to go? I mean...can't you just like, stay home?" He gave a weak smile, and Brendon rolled his eyes.

"Ry, it's prom, I have to go." He said sympathetically, reaching through Ryan for his boxers. "It's only one night."

Ryan sighed, and crossed his legs and arms. As Brendon was pulling his undershirt over his head, he turned to look at Ryan. He looked miserable.

"Hey," Brendon said, kneeling in front of the ghost. "Hey...I won't kiss her, I promise."

Ryan ducked his head, hiding his face. "S'okay."

"Hey," Brendon said, reaching a hand up, hovering against Ryan's form. "Are you jealous?"

Ryan looked up at him, screwing up his face. "No."

"You are," Brendon grinned.

"Whatever," Ryan muttered, falling backwards through the wall.

When Brendon was getting into his car, corsage in his hand, he looked up towards the attic window, ignoring the strange looks from his parents, and blew a small kiss.

* * *

When Brendon returned home from his senior prom, he couldn't find Ryan anywhere. He waited until his parents were sleeping before he tiptoed up to the attic. Ryan wasn't there. After he'd made the rounds of all the bedrooms, he figured there was only one place the ghost could be. Brendon found him in the furthest corner of the basement, just below the window.

"Ryan?"

"I missed my prom." Brendon blinked, before he sat down on the cold concrete next to him.

"I was supposed to go with Kelly Merlotte," the ghost gave a small smile. "It was just a cover up, of course. She knew I was gay. She was one of my best friends."

Brendon nodded, rubbing at his own arms. "I just...I dunno. I wish...I wish I could have gone. With you." Brendon gave a small smile, ducking his head. "Me too." "I'll never get to dance with you," Ryan said, his voice shaking. "I'll never hold your hand. Or kiss you. I'll just... I'll always be here." He ran his hand over the floor. "Right here, in this spot."

Brendon's eyes widened, staring at the floor. "Here? This is...this is where you..."

Ryan nodded. "I don't like being down here, Bren."

"Why did you come down then?"

Ryan shook his head. "No, I don't like being here. Stuck here. Forever. I'm always gonna be alone."

Brendon looked at him. "No, I'm-"

"You're going off to college, Bren. You're leaving, like you should, and you're gonna have a life. You're gonna meet someone, someone real, and I'll just be your old imaginary friend."

Brendon shook his head. "I'd never forget you."

"You will, Brendon, and I won't blame you. You know it will always just be me." He said with a hint of regret in his eyes.

"No, Ryan, Don't talk like that."

"Just forget me, I'll be fine." And with that, Ryan faded, leaving Brendon sitting alone in the cold basement.

* * *

When Brendon left for college, Ryan didn't say goodbye. He watched from the attic window, eyes on the old Chevy as Brendon lifted his bags into the trunk. He watched as Brendon pulled each member of his family into an embrace, before he looked towards the old attic window, a sad smile on his face, before he got in the car, and drove away.

* * *

It was Christmas when Brendon came home from college. Ryan saw his car pull up, his mother wrap her arms around him as he climbed out. He didn't look too different, Ryan thought. His hair was a little longer, but just as crazy. He had bags under his eyes, and he looked so tired, but it was still Brendon. Still Ryan's Bren.

It was around midnight when Ryan heard the attic door creak open. He was curled up in the old, dusty arm-chair, eyes closed.

"I know you're not asleep," Brendon smirked from the door way. "You don't sleep, Ry."

Ryan sighed, and turned to look at him. "Hey."

"Hey," Brendon smiled, walking over to lean against an old cabinet. "Miss me?"

Ryan shrugged. "Hey, you're not still doing the 'grow up and forget about me' thing now, are you?"

Brendon said, sliding to sit on the floor. "Brendon, can we not-"

"Ryan, deal with it, okay?" Brendon smiled. "You're stuck with me."

Ryan sighed and nodded. "For now."

* * *

"You know," Brendon breathed, staring at his ceiling, face red, naked chest sweating. "I'm a virgin."

Ryan turned his head from the space next to him. "Huh?"

Brendon gave a shy smile. "I don't think this," he raised a hand to motion between them. "Would count as sex, really."

Ryan watched him as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "What, so...you haven't..."

Brendon shook his head. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Ryan climbed off the bed. "Brendon, I told you, you should-"

"Yeah yeah, forget about you, move on, you're dead, blah, blah, blah," Brendon rolled his eyes as Ryan floated around the room.

"Whatever, Ryan. I told you, I don't care, I love you." Ryan froze in front of the old Beatles poster.

"What?"

Brendon sighed. "What?"

"Brendon, don't say things like that." Brendon gave a small laugh.

"What? Why? It's the truth."

"Don't..."

"Ryan, you can't stop me from-"

"You can't love me, Brendon!" Ryan turned on the spot. "For fuck sake! Are you even listening to me? I'M DEAD! I'm not even here! I'm a fucking...I'm an apparition, for crying out loud!"

Brendon scrambled to his feet, stepping up in front of Ryan. "I don't care, I told you, I just-"

"No, Brendon,"Ryan held up his hands, backing up towards the wall. "This is it. You can't...you can't go on like this, it isn't healthy..."

"Isn't healthy? What, so now you think I'm insane too, huh?"

"This doesn't work out, Brendon. It can't. You need to...you need to leave me...just forget about this, okay? You're only nineteen-"

"So are you!"

"I was nineteen, Bren. I'm always gonna be nineteen. You're not."

"What?" Brendon said, voice shaking. "So I just, pretend you're not here? Ryan, you're stuck in my house..."

"Brendon..."

"So I just agree with them all, do I? Just pretend you don't exist?"

"Yes," Ryan's voice was barely a whisper.

Brendon stared at him, his eyes sparkling, running his hands through his hair. He shook his head, before he grabbed a pair of pants from his floor.

"What're you doing Bren?" Ryan asked, eyes downcast.

"I need a drink," Brendon muttered, pulling on a shirt. "And who knows!" He sounded almost hysterical. "Maybe I'll meet someone when I'm out!"

"Brendon, I-"

"Oh no, that's what you want, isn't it?" Brendon stepped in front of Ryan again. "Isn't it, Ry? You want me to move on, right? Is that what you want? Me to bring people home, like every other fucking college kid out there?"

"Brendon..."

"Fuck you, Ryan." At like that, he was gone, bedroom door slamming behind him.

* * *

Ryan was in the basement when he heard the noises. The voices. He creeped up and into the hallway, just in time to see Brendon stumbling up the staircase, hand in hand with a dark-haired man. It didn't matter where Ryan went, Matt's empty room, the kitchen, the basement. He could hear them, could feel them, Brendon's moans, the creaking of the bed. Never in his whole existence, had Ryan ever wished he didn't exist, as much as he did that night.

* * *

Brendon was crying. Ryan could hear him from Matt's room. He was so glad the kid was at his grandma's for the weekend. He tried to ignore it, as much as he could, but it was no use.

"It's okay," Ryan said, sliding through the door. Brendon didn't look up from his curled up position on the bed. He was shaking, arms wrapped around himself. He shook his head, eyes screwed shut as tears slid down his cheeks.

"No, it's not."

"Brendon, you're-"

"I'm not supposed to do things like that," Brendon whispered.

"Stop saying that. I shouldn't do things like that." Ryan sighed, his insides twisting. He knelt at the side of the bed, a hand outstretched, ghosting over Brendon's cheek. Brendon sucked in a breath at the cold touch.

"I wished it was you." He whimpered, pressing his face against the bed. "I just...I just wanted it to be you."

"It can't be me, Bren. It'll never be me." Brendon tightened his grip on himself as he pressed his face hard against the mattress, sobs shaking his body.

Brendon didn't say goodbye when he left the next day. He just packed up this things and left, his puzzled parents standing in the empty driveway, watching him drive away. Ryan curled in on himself, in the centre of Brendon's bed, just begging to be on any plane but this one.

* * *

Brendon was twenty-one the next time he came home. Ryan was surprised, if he was honest. He'd been floating around in the attic when he heard the car pull up in the drive way. When Brendon stepped out into the drive way, Ryan was speechless. It was Brendon, alright. He was older, but still Brendon. His hair was stuck up in all directions, and the gel made his hair look shiny. He didn't look at the attic window.

* * *

Brendon had been home two weeks before he acknowledged Ryan. Ryan was in the attic, as always, when Brendon creeped up.

"Don't exist, huh?" He said, eyes on the ghost, sitting in the rafters. "For someone who doesn't exist, you sure do make a habit of appearing outside my room at night."

Ryan didn't answer, keeping his eyes on the roof. "I graduated," Brendon continued, throwing himself down, choking on the dust as it flew around him. "They want me to go singing in Europe."

Ryan nodded, eyes closed. Brendon looked up at him, and sighed.

"Listen Ryan, I'm not here to...whatever." He shook his head and got to his feet. "I just...I just wanted to say hi." He turned and made his way out the room, leaving the ghost boy sitting in the rafters, arms wrapped around his wavering form.

* * *

Brendon didn't come to see him anymore. It hurt. It really hurt. But he was only doing as Ryan had asked. So instead, Ryan found himself wandering the halls at night when everyone was asleep, pausing outside Brendon's door for moments at a time, or watching him from his walls.

* * *

It was late one night, when Brendon came home from a bar. He was drunk, stumbling around as he made his way into the kitchen. He was muttering to himself, as he pulled another beer from the fridge. Ryan was sitting on top of the fridge, his form almost invisible.

"Ry," Brendon was muttering, crashing off the counter, falling onto the floor. "Fucking...fuckin'...ghosts...stupid..."

Ryan watched as he fell asleep, something in his stomach not quite feeling right. When Brendon started to convulse, Ryan knew what was happening. He didn't know what to do. He done his best to make as much noise as he could. He made the cutlery crash around in the drawers, the Crocker smash from the counters. When Brendon's parents ran into the kitchen, Ryan stepped back, watching as his mother cried, trying to hold Brendon as still as possible. His father was in the hallway, hands shaking as he dialed 911. Ryan felt something break inside. He stepped forward, on the opposite side of Mrs. Urie, crouching down to stoke Brendon's cheek.

"Hey," he whispered. "It's okay...I'm here...it's okay..." He slid his hand down, wrapping it around Brendon's wrist. With a small tug, he pulled Brendon to his feet.

"Ryan?" Brendon's eyes were wide.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said sadly, looking towards the floor. Brendon stared at him, before he followed his line of sight. Ryan knew it wasn't easy, looking at your own body. He could feel Brendon shaking in his grasp.

"I'm dying," Brendon whispered, eyes on his mother, cradling his shaking body.

"You're already dead," Ryan muttered. "The last of your life is ebbing away." Brendon turned to look at Ryan, then down to his wrist.

"You...you're touching me."

Ryan looked down. "Huh. So I am." They looked at each other for a few seconds, before Brendon startled at his mother's scream.

"I can't...I don't..." He couldn't finish the sentence, eyes on his mother, rocking back and forward, his head in her lap.

"Come on," Ryan said, pulled him towards the wall. "You don't want to see this." Visions of his own mother, screaming, falling to her knees, circled in his mind.

No.

Brendon didn't want to see this.

* * *

"I'm dead." Brendon stated, sitting on the edge of his bed. Ryan nodded, kneeling in front of him.

"I'm sorry...I tried...they didn't get there in time...you started to choke..." Brendon shook his head, reaching out his hand. He cupped Ryan's cheek, and gave a shaky laugh.

"I can touch you."

Ryan smiled sadly. "I'm sorry."

Brendon shook his head and leaned forward, hand sliding into Ryan's hair, bringing their foreheads together.

"I'm sorry, Bren," Ryan whispered, eyes closed. "I never wanted this...I never-"

"It's okay..." Brendon mumbled, bringing their mouths together. A few seconds later, he pulled back, eyes on Ryan's. "We're here forever, aren't we?" Ryan nodded, bringing a hand up to touch his lips. He'd been kissed. He couldn't believe it.

Brendon sighed, and smiled. "I can touch you."

He took Ryan by the shoulders, and pulled him up onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him.

"Brendon, I-"

"Can we not talk?" Brendon asked, closing his eyes, the sounds of his family's voices echoing around the old house. "Just...just let me hold you for now, okay?"

Ryan nodded, settling against Brendon's chest. They lay in silence, as people came and went, people appearing in the room, tear streaked faces muttering goodbyes. When Matt showed up, Ryan tightened his grip on Brendon, feeling him press closer.

"Never let me go, Ry," Brendon whispered, lips against Ryan's neck.

"I won't," Ryan whispered. "Ever."

Brendon gave a small, sad laugh. "We'll both be boys in the attic, huh?" Ryan nodded, smiling against Brendon's hair.

"Forever."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed :D**

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**~Minute**


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